


my hands are shaking from holding back from you (i don’t want you like a best friend)

by youareiron_andyouarestrong



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Bad at People-ing in General, But They Give Great Gifts, Established Relationship, F/M, RebelCaptain Secret Valentine, bad at dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 21:46:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13690449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youareiron_andyouarestrong/pseuds/youareiron_andyouarestrong
Summary: Cassian and Jyn are getting the hang of this wholerelationshipthing. They'd appreciate the lack of commentary from the peanut gallery, if you please.





	my hands are shaking from holding back from you (i don’t want you like a best friend)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mosylu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/gifts).



> for the Rebelcaptain Secret Valentine Exchange, where mosylu's prompt was "Cassian and Jyn being terrible at giving lovey-dovey gifts." I did my best with the rom-com aspect, friend. hope you enjoy it.

Jyn is practical. She is immensely, efficiently, unendingly practical. She has to be. There’s no room in the lives she’s led for sentimentality, or impracticality. She’s learned to pare everything down to their bare essentials and make it keep working for as long as it can, or until it literally falls apart on her.

So it makes no sense that she’s eyeing this particular coat slung over the stall of a vendor on this planet.

It’s a deeply saturated purple coat, with long sleeves and a hem that would brush the knees of an above average size man. The collar is tall and the lining thick. It’s a lovely, well-made piece of clothing, the kind would surely cost about as much as week’s worth of meals and repairs.

Cassian would _love_ this coat. He’s not a vain man, by any means, but he _is_ a bit of a packrat, and his profession requires him to find new outfits and disguises for whatever new mission he’s being sent on. If he wore this coat at a upscale locale like Canto Bight or Cloud City, he would blend in perfectly, or even on the higher levels of Courscant. And Jyn...she’s got haggling skills the likes of which most Rebellion suppliers can only dream of.

She could buy this coat for Cassian. She _should_ buy this coat for Cassian. He would love it, it’s has its uses in his profession, she probably has enough credits, thank to the cons she’s been pulling on the side to supplement the purely theoretical pay they’ve been getting.

But she hasn’t _moved._ She’s just been staring at it. The vendor has gone past eyeing her hopefully and moved on to trying to attract more willing customers.

Jyn forces herself to keep moving. One lap around the marketplace, where’s she supposed to be keeping an eye out for troopers on patrol. If it’s still there when she’s made her loop, she’ll buy it.

* * *

 “Flowers,” Kes Dameron says.

Cassian looks around the frozen landscape of Hoth elaborately. “Where?”

“Candy,” Kes suggests instead.

“Again, _where,”_ Cassian says, pulling the hood of his parka further up his ears.

“Look Andor, you’re asking me for my advice and I’m giving it to you,” says Kes.

“I honestly don’t recall asking you to do either of those things,” says Cassian and neatly steps out of range of Kes throwing a snowball at him. “And it’s not like you’ve been giving _Shara_ either of these things.”

“Well, you know my girl,” Kes protests. “She’ll take a good set of tools and a new chassis for her X-Wing anyday. But I’ve never known her to turn down candy. Like the chocolate from Yavin. Or the coffee from--” Kes swallows a bit. “Alderaan. That was the good stuff.”

“Yes,” Cassian allows, “it was.”

There’s a moment of silence in the air, just a shared memory. Of coffee, flavored with condensed milk and cinnamon, and chocolate so bitter and rich it filled your whole mouth with flavor.

Kes sighs, letting it go. “Okay, granted, _your_ girl probably doesn’t care one way about that sort of thing. Though I saw her go after those marshmallow treats the Guardians brought back once. It was terrifying.”

 _She’s not my girl,_ Cassian almost says, but doesn’t. “She likes sweet things. But not candy.”

“ _Have_ you been giving her anything?” Kes wants to know. “Any signs of affection from you? Other than, you know, volunteering for suicide missions and miraculously returning from them? Though I imagine as a rule, it’s pretty hard to top that.”

“I’d say so,” says Cassian only somewhat sourly. That’s why this is so kriffing _hard._

“Oh come on, Andor. There has to be _some_ kind of sign of normal affection between the two of you,” says Kes. “Though knowing the pair of you, I’m hard-pressed to imagine what.”

“Knives,” Cassian says. “I’ve been giving her knives.”

Another pause as Kes digests this. “You know what’s always a great gift, easy to have on hand?” Kes says. “ _Orgasms._ Maybe try that.” And takes off at a full sprint back to the base as Cassian turns on him, the tips of his ears dark red.

* * *

 “The true heart does not care the value of the gift,” says Chirrut, busily mending his robes. Jyn has to admire the fact his stitches are neater than hers will ever be, and she’s sighted. “Only the affection behind it.”

“Unless it’s weaponry,” Baze puts in, peering at the mess of blaster parts around him as he recalibrates his repeater cannon.

“Unless it’s weaponry,” Chirrut concedes.

“Never give anyone you love a shoddy weapon,” says Baze. “Bad form.”

Bodhi turns a wide-eyed gaze on Jyn. “You’re going to _them_ for romantic advice?”

“Who else do you suggest I ask?” says Jyn. “The Princess and Solo?”

They all contemplate that and collectively shake their heads, even Chirrut. “The Princess might yet find happiness with General Solo,” Chirrut says. “If only she would lay _her_ weapons down for a moment.”

Baze grunts. “Solo likes getting yelled at. It’s his fatal flaw. One among many.”

“How can you have more than one fatal flaw?” Bodhi wonders aloud.

“He’d probably take it as a compliment,” says Jyn and pushes a tool closer to Baze. The coat in the marketplace tugs at her memory.

“Perhaps something non-perishable the Captain likes,” says Chirrut. “Like droid parts.”

“It doesn’t exactly say _romance_ though,” says Bodhi dubiously. “Not like _weaponry_ does either.”

“You have never been courted,” says Baze.

“I have so!” Bodhi says, stung. “I mean, um--”

“Please stop tormenting him and answer my question,” Jyn cuts across the bickering. “What, besides, droid parts or _weaponry,_ would be something _practical_?”

The Guardians pause to consider the question. Bodhi keeps muttering about courtship.

“Physical comfort,” Chirrut suggests thoughtfully.  “His spine pains him sometimes. It is worse in the cold.”

“ _Everything’s_ worse in the cold,” Bodhi grumbles. “But yeah, he’s been moving more slowly around base a lot. Maybe one of those heat pack thingies they have in medical. I bet I can find a ship to intercept. An Imperial one.”

“Good idea,” Jyn murmurs.  

“Weaponry,” Baze reiterates firmly. “Never fails.”

* * *

 “I fail to see the point in this venture,” says Kay, his great height looming over Cassian’s shoulder. It’s a good thing he’s used to it.

“Jyn needs a new scarf,” Cassian says, sorting carefully through the pile of fabric. “Her old one’s almost worn through.”

“Her gloves could also stand to be met with a replacement,” Kay agrees. “But Jyn Erso is more than capable of meeting this requirements herself. Why do it for her?”

 _Because she won’t. And because this is something I_ can _do._ “I’m performing my duties as captain to my crew,” Cassian says instead. “Making sure they’re all adequately supplied.”

Kay’s exhaust vents hum, his approximation of a disapproving huff. “You have spent more than a third of our mission funds on scarves for Jyn Erso.”

“She’s bringing us in more credits with her cons than Command can supply,” Cassian reminds him. “We can spare a little.”

Kay does another droid huff. “The amount of scarves seems disproportionate to the relative size and dimensions of Jyn Erso.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have taught Kay so much sarcasm.

Cassian lifts one offering. It’s a pale green, with threads of subtle gold and silver running through it, the material nicely heavy and thick. It probably wouldn’t do much on Hoth, but another, more temperate planet, it would suit her nicely. _And,_ his foolish heart murmurs, _it matches her eyes._ Green and gold and silver, framing her face like a piece of untouched woods, as she moves like flame through the streets.

“This one,” he says, “for another mission.” He sets it aside.

“Organics,” says Kay and offers no more commentary.

* * *

 “You came armed for rancor,” says Solo dubiously, eyeing the pile of weapons around Jyn. “There’s no way you can carry all this stuff on you all the time Erso. You couldn’t run a step.”

“It’s not for _me,_ you nerf-herder,” says Jyn irritably, pawing through the pile. “I’m trying to find a scope for Cassian that he can modify.”

Solo studies the collection of weapons with renewed interest. “Is it mating season, Erso?”

Jyn lets out her breath in an irritated rush. “Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“Not at the moment,” says Solo breezily. “I am here to help you with your weapon-outfitting courtship gift needs.”

Jyn picks up a likely looking rifle and deliberately checks to see if it’s fully charged. The barrel hums and starts glowing a dim blue. “I’d pick my next words carefully if I were you.”

Solo, suddenly realizing the wisdom in _not_ irritating the woman surrounded by weapons and every single one of them she knows how to use, backs up enough so he can get a running start if necessary. “Oh come on, Erso. I’m _great_ with advice.”

Jyn does not dignify that with a response. Chirrut told her it wasn’t kind to shatter people’s personal illusions. “And if you really want to know the way to man’s heart--”

“Up and under the ribs,” Jyn intones flatly, just for the fun of seeing Solo edge even further backwards. “I don’t need to know the way to his heart, I need him to be able to shoot.”

“I swear to the gods old and new you two lunatics are made for each other,” Solo grumbles as he makes his escape.

* * *

 “What,” says Bodhi very slowly, shivering in the arctic depths of the hold of their ship, “is _that?_ ”

“What’s wrong with it?” asks Cassian.

“What’s wrong with it?” Bodhi echoes. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. It’s _dead,_ that’s what’s wrong with it.”

“It’s fresh meat so I don’t want to hear it from you,” says Cassian. The blood has congealed on the tarp, thanks to the frozen air, and you really can’t smell anything once you get accustomed to it.

“It’s not the meat I object to,” Bodhi protests. “It’s the _what the hell are we going to do with it_ question that keeps bothering me.”

“Eat it,” says Cassian only somewhat acerbically. “What do you suggest, throwing it at a AT-TT in hopes of slowing it down?”

“Don’t you take that tone with me,” says Bodhi, an uncannily good mimic of Baze scolding the younger ones. “I’m not the one who thought of bringing a whole _carcass_ of...of...what is it? I’m afraid to ask.”

“I have no idea,” Cassian concedes willingly. “All I know is that it’s dead and it can be eaten.”

“What did you even get this for?” Bodhi asks, in the tone of voice of a man who _knows_ he is going to regret asking, but simply can’t help himself.

Cassian shrugs, trying very to look as nonchalant as possible. “There was a complaint about the lack of protein.”

“You mean _Jyn_ was complaining,” says Bodhi flatly, unfooled and unimpressed. “Force help you both. This is the worst courtship I have _ever_ heard of.”

“ _We’re not--”_ Cassian starts to say, thoroughly fed up with everything, but then Bodhi escapes to the cockpit leaving Cassian alone to deal with possibly more than fifty half-frozen pounds of meat.

* * *

 Cassian leaves one particularly lovely knife in Jyn’s kit, a long, straight slim blade of razor sharp, silver metal. It’s practically an antique, but it’s so well-made and perfectly balanced to Jyn’s hand that she can’t bear to put it down. The tang of the blade is patterned all the way down with swirls of stars, and Jyn’s heart _hurts_ from imagining Cassian finding this perfect thing so suited to her.

Cassian finds a purple coat hanging on his tiny closet door, the hem almost brushing the ground. It’s perfectly tailored to his height and frame, even with an added hood to pull up over his head in case his face needs to be hidden. Inside the lining are carefully sewn pockets for weapons, data chips, extra scan-docs, anything else an itinerant spy might need. (There is no hidden pocket on the collar for his lullaby though. He can quite clearly picture her refusing to even consider placing one there, stubbornly choosing no other option for him except _coming home_.)

These are beautiful, well-made things, chosen for the other with immense thought and care as to what they would like and what would be useful to them.

And so far no word has been exchanged between them about it.

But Cassian sees the knife in Jyn’s hand, wielded with ferocious grace and he thinks, _my girl._ And does not immediately castigate himself for the thought.

Jyn sees Cassian in that purple coat, striding along the streets of this Core world, sees the eyes of the ladies follow him, lingering and she thinks, _mine, he is mine, that is_ my _mark I put on him and there isn’t a being here who knows that except_ me.

They have been sharing the same quarters, the same bunk, for almost two months now. They each other’s bodies intimately well, and know how to touch and keep each other warm. Jyn knows that Cassian will make low, rumbling sound deep in his throat if she kisses a certain place on his neck; Cassian has now learned the place behind Jyn’s ear that will make her gasp and arch up into him like she’s been given an electrical shock.

They’ve never spoken about it. Not to other people. It didn’t seem to matter. What on between them was _theirs,_ and even though their friends were dear to them, it wasn’t for them to talk about. Not this.

But in the dark, in their bed, hidden from the cold and prying eyes under blankets, they talk of other things.

“I love the knife,” Jyn blurts out. “Where did you find it?”

Cassian stirs underneath her, one arm behind his head and the other draped over her back, his hand curled around her side. “Traded it on a scavenger planet. The owner didn’t know what to do with it. Where did you find my coat?”

“Who said it was me?” Jyn grumbles, and squirms when Cassian gently pinches her ribs in minor reproof and amusement. “Stop that. Yes, yes, alright, I found it at a marketplace. I’ll have you know I haggled it down to a _third_ of what it was originally worth.”

She can hear his smile in the dark. “That poor vendor didn’t know what hit them?”

“I was being very reasonable,” Jyn sniffs. “ _They_ weren’t. And I made the additions.”

She thinks she feels his lips shape that smile against her hair. “Did Chirrut help you with them? Your seams aren’t usually that neat.”

“You know too much about me,” Jyn grouses, but without that much heat.  She feels for his throat in the dark with her lips. “I liked the gifts. All of them. I--I probably should’ve told you that when you gave them to me, but--” she pauses her own words, takes a deep breath. “I’m not so good with, with--”

Cassian’s hand makes soothing passes up and down her back. “With thank-yous?” His voice is gentle, without judgment.

Jyn lets her breath escape her in a soft rush. “Yeah. With those.”

Cassian shifts, his arms around her back and rolling over so he’s on top of her, a wall between her and everything that might threaten this tiny space, this well of sanctuary. “I’m not so good with thank-you myself,” he admits softly. “But I love the coat. I’d like to thank you properly for it.”

Jyn blinks, shifting her legs so he can lie more comfortably between them, rearranging her arms so they’re loosely looped around his back. “Didn’t you just do that?”

There’s a spark of amusement, hope and apprehension somehow, flashing in his eyes. “I’d like to make you feel good.” His voice is soft, gently coaxing. “If you don’t mind.”

Jyn stares up at him, brow slightly furrowed. “You--you know you don’t have to.  Cass, if this is some kind of weird owing thing you have--”

Cassian ducks his head, kisses the soft place of her neck that makes her shiver and dig her fingers into his back. “It’s not an owing thing,” he assures her. “You’ve given me a lovely gift. I’d like to make you feel good, because I want to, and because I don’t think I do it enough.”

“Of course you do,” says Jyn with more heat than she expected. “You do it all the time just by _being_ here, Cass, honestly--”

The rest of her words were cut off by Cassian’s mouth on hers, as inexorable as gravity, the moon pulling tides. Jyn gives herself over to the kiss, deciding to address her previous statement later. When they’re not busy.

It’s not a really conducive environment for extensive and imaginative fooling around. They need to go off planet just to enjoy themselves in a (hopefully) temperate climate and (less than likely) decent bed, which drives Jyn _insane,_ but it has its advantages.

Like Cassian’s head between her legs.

Jyn tightens her hands in his hair, arching up into it, his mouth, his lovely, clever mouth and lovely, clever hands. She sighs, a low crooning sound, the temperature under the blankets shooting up by at least five degrees.

Everyone knows that Cassian is supposed to be the patient one in this relationship. But Jyn knows how to be patient too. She’s relearning it under Cassian’s mouth, his hands, the soft sounds he makes as she shifts under him, says his name breathlessly, or moans it.

She didn’t ever think her life would get this good, she thinks hazily, whining as Cassian sucks at the nerves at the core of her. A safe space to sleep, a reliable source of weapons, readily available food--this is all she’s ever wanted. Gifts tucked away in her bag for her, especially chosen just for her, an eager and patient lover in her bed--she never imagined this. Never even considered it.There’s a dark voice that mutters at the back of her mind she shouldn’t get used to it, shouldn’t grow accustomed, shouldn’t _hope--_

Jyn cuts it down, shoves it away. Cassian moans at the heart of her, kissing and lapping up the slick gathered there like it’s life and hope and peace, all spun out around him like threads of gold, and she’s begging and saying nonsensical things, praise and encouragement and pleading, until the threads snap and she’s boneless and panting, damp with sweat and satisfaction.

Cassian crawls back up her body, lips slick and swollen. Jyn drags his mouth to hers and bites his lips, growling in pleasure at the back of her throat at the moan that vibrates through him.  

“Okay,” she gets out, “okay. Maybe I could get used to the whole _thank you_ thing.”

Cassian laughs breathlessly, their lips meeting and meeting again. “That’s all I ask for.”

 _Gifts,_ Jyn thinks, and lets herself be wrapped up in him.   

**Author's Note:**

> BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH THE TAYLOR SWIFT LYRICS 
> 
> (WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT JUDGING)


End file.
